


The Same Always

by pyupew



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: I fucked up Wendy's life, Implied Sexual Abuse, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4819817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyupew/pseuds/pyupew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each day – every day would be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Same Always

**Author's Note:**

> Yo!! So I have a lot of backstory created for Wendy and Abigail and felt like writing some Pre-island stuff. This has nothing to do with canon!!! just want to clarify that. I might make a series and stuff so!!! yeh B)

Wendy doesn’t remember a time in her life when each new day would be exciting, _fresh_ , _better_. Each day – every day would be the same.

She’d wake up with the same alarm with the same bed in the same house. Abigail as usual would wake up first and again as usual they’d both greet each other and as usual Abigail would be lively and happy while she was the opposite.

The day always started off with a typical boring and dull breakfast with the whole family – Her, Abigail, Mother, Father – then they’d get ready and wear the same uniform the same hairstyle the same flower. Then out her and Abigail go, out the door, her mother with the same look of disappointed steered towards Wendy’s way and the same emotionless father who rarely gave them a second glance.

They’d walk to their school, full of rich kids who have too much money on their hands, but they were the same.

Classes after Classes – people after people. Same faces, same shitty teachers, same good for nothing selfish rich kids.

After school, with no fail, Wendy would break off from Abigail and walk towards the cemetery, “Just want to take a relaxing walk,” she’d always say.

She’d go to a certain gravestone and just stare and stare – reading the words engraved in the stone, the dates always a blur to her. She’ll always reach her hand out, always shaky and always docile, and touch those same letters that she always held so dear to her heart – _Ophelia_.

When she gets home is the worst part of her day – her senses start to dull out and she feels as if she’s not even a part of her body. She’s numb as she greets her parents and Abigail, she can’t even bring herself to smile for Abigail’s sake because right now _Wendy isn’t Wendy_.

Dinner is always a blur – she can never remember what they ate what they drank what they talked about. All she could focus on what happened after bed time – her head filled with useless blank thoughts as her head buzzed with just _nothing_ because she just wasn’t _there_.

She was an empty shell – and maybe that was for the best.

Mother always harassed them about doing homework after dinner, but Wendy couldn’t care enough. Abigail as usual would make a huffy fit about it but eventually left her alone.

At this point Wendy always fell asleep – she’d always wake up around 10pm when Abigail was already asleep and when the cold night air seeped through the crevices of the house.

Robotically Wendy got out, and she walked.

She walked down the same hallway; she walked them so much that she could count how much tiles were on this path. Wendy would always pass the big tall mirror but never glanced at it because she couldn’t stand looking at herself.

When she reaches the door she always, _always_ shivers before quietly opening the door.

It’s always dark, with only a single lamp illuminating the room which rested on the fine wood of a clustered desk – filled with papers that Wendy always tried to read but could never figure them out – and behind that desk sat her father, his masks down, alcohol bottle in hand.

He’d always sit there in silence as Wendy waited by the door – he’d pretend she wasn’t there and she always wants to run but _she couldn’t_.

As always, he finally looks up, as always his eye’s tore deep into Wendy – his fucking _pathetic_ brown eye’s that looked so tired and so old on someone who was only 30.

He shivered and said, “Come.”

And she would.

And she would, as always, again and _again_ , let him touch her, let him strip her; let him do whatever he wants because _it’s not like she’s the only daughter he could ruin_.

It was always the same, as Wendy felt disconnected with reality she would hear her father apologize _again and again_. So much that she wanted to scream and tear his head off because _if he was sorry he wouldn’t do this to her._

Then she’d go to bed.

Like nothing had happened.

Because it’s better to pretend that everything was only a dream.

So she went to sleep with her crawling skin.

She’d dream about bugs as they ate her body bit by bit.

And when the morning comes, the cycle continues again.


End file.
